


Sparrington.doc

by kayliemalinza



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Beach Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-27
Updated: 2004-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-27 07:31:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayliemalinza/pseuds/kayliemalinza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Handjob with a side of sweet-talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparrington.doc

**Author's Note:**

> The first Sparrington I ever wrote. Aw.

Jack shifted up, lying besides James with one leg hooked over his body.

"Liked that, did you?" he said, flashing his teeth in the dark. James gave a weak sort of smile, lolling his head to the side to nestle in Jack's shoulder. Jack looked down at him with a mushy expression that would have made the pirate wince if he had seen it, but there were no mirrors around and anyway, it disappeared when he noticed Norrington's breathing grow slow and regular.

"Aye, now!" he said, jostling the Commodore. "You aren't planning to leave old Jack alone in this state, are you?" James pried his eyes open and gave him a confused, disgruntled look. Jack pressed himself gently against James' hip, smiling hopefully. "I've been very kind and giving; 'tis only polite to return the favor."

James blinked at him, then lifted the corner of his mouth in that dry, sardonic smirk that Jack hated so much, and reached a hand down between them. After a moment of fumbling, James muttered "too awkward" and pushed him away.

"S'not _fair_ ," whined Jack.

"Turn _over_ , Mr. Sparrow," said James, sounding like the same supercilious bastard he'd been on the docks of Port Royal a year ago.

Jack shifted to his other side with a huff, settling back against James and lifting his head for James' arm to slide beneath it. He was tempted to bite it, just for spite, but the other hand was back, stroking lightly at the front of his trousers. He tried to relax, but the touch was too light and he found himself quivering; it was maddening and sharp and it _wasn't getting him anywhere_!

"Commodore," he said suddenly. "Is this the way you touch yourself at night, when you put aside your hat and wig and take a different sword to hand?"

The hand stilled; Jack tensed in the sudden silence, fearing that he'd crossed some invisible line and Norrington was going to get all commodorish again and threaten to string Jack up with his own sash, which Jack really wouldn't mind as long as Norrington gave him the "little death" first.

Then James said in a musing sort of tone, "It is mostly the same way."

"Mostly," said Jack through gritted teeth as the touching began again, as light as ever. "And how is it different?"

James a silent a moment. "Rougher, I suppose. For expediency's sake."

"Rougher," said Jack. "That sounds like an excellent plan."

"Indeed?" said James, with far too much sangfroid. Jack swore that next time, he would get his satisfaction first and the Commodore would have to _wait_.

"Aye," said Jack, smiling a bit to himself. "You've always wanted to take me firmly in hand."

James snorted and clasped a hand over his hip to pull him closer. "Damn!"

Jack grabbed his arm as it tried to wrench itself from under his head. "Where do you think you're going!" he yelled.

"Your _hair_ ," snapped Norrington, "just tried to put my eye out. Why on earth have you got this ridiculous— what the hell is it, some sort of bone?" he asked, lifting the hard white strip and peering at it.

"It is a piece of baleen," said Jack, "from a white whale that I hunted for years. I finally got the bugger, but he tore my ship to pieces. Very nasty business."

James rolled his eyes. "I believe the whale you are referring to is Moby Dick, and it was killed by Captain Ahab, not you." he said. "Furthermore, baleen whales aren't white."

"Well, if you _must_ know the true story," Jack said impatiently, pulling James' hand out of his hair and putting it back where it belonged. "Mm.... S'nice, love."

"The true story?" prompted James, and carefully pillowed his head on Jack's hair.

"Ah. Yes," said Jack, undulating his hips ever so slightly. "I was in Samana Bay, being chased by several Spanish soldiers who had taken exception to my treatment of their wives— not that the women had complained a bit, mind you, but the Spanish gentlemen were rather offended. Or maybe it was that they were disappointed at being left out of the fun. Hmm." He paused a moment, wondering if he shouldn't have allowed the soldiers to join in. The more the merrier, was Jack's way of thinking, but it perhaps the honorable thing was to let the ladies have their wishes first.

"And then?" said James.

"Hmm?" said Jack. "A bit faster, if you please. There's a good man."

"The Spanish soldiers were chasing you," said James. "What happened after that?"

"Oh, yes, of course," said Jack, eyelids fluttering shut. "Well, I would have stood and fought them, just to teach them a thing or two about the dire consequences of challenging Captain Jack Sparrow—" James snorted at that, and Jack elbowed him in the side "—But the Spanish ladies had been so nice, and it wouldn't have been polite to kill their husbands. After the way they'd treated me, and all."

"I thought the point of issue was the manner in which you had treated the women," countered James.

"Let me assure you, Commodore," said Jack, tossing a wicked grin over his shoulder, "All persons involved were _very_ well treated." James rolled his eyes, and then kissed that wicked mouth, just because he could. They spent a few moments that way, and Jack reached down to cover James' hand with his own, his breathing growing ragged. James pulled back, arresting his hand.

"No, no, Mr. Sparrow. You haven't finished the story."

Jack blinked at him. "What story?"

"About the Spanish soldiers," said James. "I'm assuming they have something to do with that horrid thing you have tied in your hair, although I can't possibly see how the two are related."

Jack grunted, tugging at James' hand. "Give us a bit of joy, love, and then I'll tell you the rest."

"No," said James, and grabbed Jack's wrist. "Finish the story first."

Jack growled and tried to yank his hand free, but Norrington had the better angle and might possibly be just a _wee_ bit stronger than Jack, and he had that damned smug smile, so Jack glared at him and said, "There was a whale beached on the shore and I crawled inside its mouth to hide, and after the Spanish had continued on their merry way I broke off a strip of baleen as a souvenir. It's also good for picking locks. Now, would you kindly take your hand off my wrist and put it back in my trousers?"

"You crawled inside the carcass of a whale?"

"God damn it, man!" bellowed Jack. "If you do not finish what you have begun—"

"It wasn't I who began it, Sparrow."

Jack snarled and twisted around, ready to pin that damnable teasing Commodore to the ground and take matters into his own hands, but James pressed himself firmly against Jack's body, flush from chest to toe and warm and solid and he gripped him in tight, slow strokes that sent tingles up and down Jack's spine. Jack seized up suddenly, pushing back against the Commodore as he neared the precipice.

"There's a certain irony in this," James mused.

"Gah?"

"Indeed, Mr. Sparrow. For while I lay in my bed, taking my sword in hand," —Jack gave a shiver at that— "I was thinking of you."

That startled Jack. He wanted to turn his head, but James was pressing too close against him and just then, another shiver ran up his spine. James merely smiled— Jack could _feel_ him smiling, dammit— and pressed a kiss below his ear.

"I don't see why you should be surprised, Mr. Sparrow. I find it highly unlikely that you are unaware, or moreover, do not purposely cultivate the effect your manner has upon men of solid— social— standing." The last words were each accompanied by a squeeze of the fingers, and Jack helplessly stifled a moan. "Yes, Jack Sparrow, I have thought of you during my self-abuse. Not always, but certainly after our first meeting, when you flopped onto my dock like a fish, sodding wet and dressed like a bad character from a children's book." He ran his tongue down Jack's neck, voice growing soft and husky, trembling with some undertone that Sparrow could not grasp. "Your wild hair, trinkets braided throughout... eyes smudged with— I've heard it called kohl? Black eyes, wild eyes, your extravagant manner of movement.... Forgive me, I presumed that.... So wicked, you were. Exotic and dark and so, so beautiful...."

On and on it went, those sweet words, rousing a curious ache in his belly. James' lips were maddening against the shell of his ear and Jack wanted to turn and catch them with his own, but that would stop him from talking. Jack could find kisses anywhere, but no-one had ever said these sort of things to him before so he buried his face in his arm and tried not to moan too loudly when he came.

James tucked him back in, soundless now but for the husk of his breath. The words were gone but the chest was there, the belly and long legs, twined with Jack's own. He slept, and the breeze coolly kissed the wetness of his cheeks.

James, curled closely around his pirate, pretended not to notice.


End file.
